


Haunt

by shannonissatan



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, Gen, Immortal Fake AH Crew, Undead Michael, camelot AU, spooky scary au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-30
Updated: 2015-10-30
Packaged: 2018-04-28 23:52:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5110049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shannonissatan/pseuds/shannonissatan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been alive for centuries, grown used to loss. But even after fifteen hundred years, it still hurts to talk about their blacksmith. </p><p>So what happens when the mortal man they buried over a thousand years ago spots his former king running from Los Santos police?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haunt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rage_quitter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rage_quitter/gifts).



> This thing isn't even that long and it took forever. Title from a Bastille song of the same name (that you should really listen to it's awesome). A combination of [ padalickingood's Spooky Scary AU](http://padalickingood.tumblr.com/tagged/spooky-scary-au), [rage-quitter's Immortal Fake AH universe](http://rage-quitter.tumblr.com/tagged/immortal-fahc), and [this text post by teambuttstuff](http://teambuttstuff.tumblr.com/post/125712824293/ok-but-what-about-like-immortal-fake-ah-crew). Some names are different, but they'll be back to normal by the time the 21st century rolls around. Arthur is Gavin, Johnson is Michael, Jay is Ryan, and Dooley is Jeremy.

They’ve been showing up for millennia. They helped found civilizations, build Stonehenge and the pyramids, and organize the first ever Olympic Games. They know the answers to some of the oldest questions mankind has about its own history, can speak in dead languages at the drop of a hat, and have lived through wars forgotten by time. Yet somehow they’ve stayed absent in history books, preferring to keep themselves in mythology and let others take credit for the great things they’ve accomplished. Every culture has different names for them, each with its own unique inaccuracies, but English has a word that sums them up quite nicely—immortals.

The world is a small place, especially when everyone is under the assumption that an ocean marks the end of it, so these immortals have been running into each other since they first knew what they were. It never takes too long, half a century at most, for them to meet up. They form small groups, temporary families, and blend in with society. After a few decades, they move on. They spread out, reconnect with those they haven’t seen in a while, and make a new family. At least, this is how it normally works.

There’s an exception to every rule, and one specific group of immortals is just that. At six members and growing by the middle of the fifth century, these guys stopped following the rules as soon as they knew they existed. Some are so old they can’t remember where their knowledge comes from, while others have been around for less than a hundred years. But by far the most notable thing about them has always been their creativity.

When one of their group comes up with a new idea, something they think will change history, they typically end up leading the charge. So when the newest recruit—a young man who had fallen victim to disease and ran from home after waking up in a coffin—jokingly suggested starting their own kingdom, he soon found himself sitting on a throne with his new friends by his side.

There weren’t a lot of them, not yet, but they could pull themselves together when they wanted to. With their youngest member leading them, five of the most enduring men on earth built a monarchy that would last longer than any of them would have expected. Their sixth member, older than any of the others, had decided to watch from afar and document the history they planned to make. That was his pattern: stay on the edges of everything, watch it grow and take shape while his friends had their fun with society. The others had their habits as well, one man preferring calculated moves and careful planning while another was impulsive and had no patience for detail. Nevertheless, they were always there for each other.

As the kingdom grew, it acquired a name—Camelot. It was a bad joke, something the group had created as an innuendo that went unnoticed by everyone else because of its obscurity, but it stuck. That was a common theme around the group, names and their tendency to stick around. There was Dooley, whose name came from a miscommunication and somebody said that if that’s what the king called him, so would the rest of them. Then Jay, who had accidentally dropped a syllable while introducing himself and decided to roll with it. Jack’s was a complicated origin, a nickname of a nickname of a joke that went through three languages and nobody remembered the punchline of. They called their king Arthur, just a jumble of sounds he’d come up with that sounded near enough to a word. It was his first time going by another name, and he wanted it to be unique.

It was a cool spring day a few years into his reign when Arthur heard a scuffle in the courtyard. He’d been sitting with Jay, asking things about what he’d seen and where he’d traveled to despite having heard most of the stories before. Then there were shouts from outside, and Arthur walked to the small window to investigate.

Dooley was chastising a boy, no older than twelve, for making fun of his height. The kid was grinning ear to ear despite Dooley’s grip on his forearm, still cracking jokes about the knight and giggling to himself. Dooley’s page couldn’t help but laugh along, which made Dooley even madder and unable to form words. Arthur gave himself half a minute to enjoy the amusing scene before calling down for Dooley to let the boy go. Dooley did, begrudgingly, and grumbled to the kid to get back to work. As soon as his back was turned, the boy made a face at Dooley and got a laugh out of the king before picking up a bucket full of water and making his way towards the forge.

Arthur noticed a lot more of the boy in the next years. Arguing with Dooley, mostly, but also working with small hand tools and baskets of metal wire, making chainmail armor in the corridors of the castle or against a wall in the courtyard. The king watched him sometimes, how easily his fingers fell into the pattern of cutting and shaping metal loops. He found it quite interesting, and had to be pulled away from the distraction by a friend on more than a few occasions.

He was fifteen when he was first arrested, after physically attacking a man selling vegetables because they were shriveling up and weren’t worth what he was selling them for. There was already a criminal in the stocks, sentenced to sixteen hours for beating his kids when they didn’t need punishment, so the angry craftsman spent the night in the stables and had to help the groom in the morning. When the groom reported him missing before sunrise, Arthur couldn’t help but crack a smile while Dooley grumbled.

Arthur saw the boy a few days later, dragging a basket of half-finished chain armour out of the castle forge. He was yelling at it, angry that the wicker was catching on a stone in the ground. He gave a strong tug and the basket tore, sending a small bag of metal loops and hand tools clattering across the floor. The boy cursed loudly and kicked what was left of the container. Half of a chain shirt skittered down the corridor and stopped at the king’s feet.

Arthur picked up the armour and walked over to the boy. He didn’t notice the king, too focused on breaking the splintered remains of the basket, until Arthur tapped his shoulder. It made him jump in surprise, but he accepted when the chainmail piece was handed to him.

“Quite the explosive temper you’ve got there,” Arthur remarked. The boy looked at his feet nervously and mumbled something resembling an apology.

Arthur tried to be friendly, assure him he wasn’t in trouble. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Johnson,” he replied. He still seemed a little unsure, but when Arthur smiled he relaxed.

“You made this, Johnson?” Arthur asked, gesturing to the armour. Johnson grinned and straightened up.

“Yeah,” he answered proudly, “it’s the first one that I’m making that’ll actually be for battle.” He held it up, outlining the pattern. “Looks like scales. Pretty cool, right? Designed it myself.”

Arthur nodded and smiled. “They’re heavier, but it’s harder for a dart to get between the links this way,” the boy continued.

“That’s really neat,” Arthur congratulated. “When you’re finished with that, could you make me one?”

Johnson stopped, shocked. In the silence, Arthur elaborated. “Not for battle, of course.” Even though he couldn’t die, most of Arthur’s kingdom was under the assumption that he could. He didn’t want this kid to think that the life of their monarch would be in his hands. “I need something decorative, just a formal thing, and this design is unique. You think you could come up with one for me?”

Johnson stuttered before agreeing. Arthur smiled and bent down, sweeping some of the metal loops on the floor into a pile. Johnson quickly followed his lead, passively arguing that the king shouldn’t have to clean up after a kid like him. Arthur waved him off and helped anyways.

“Arthur!” The voice came from down the hall, and when the king and craftsman turned around they saw that its source was one of Arthur’s knights. Geoff this time, Arthur’s right hand despite the fact that he fought with his left. Behind him was one of his former squires, an athletic French guy a few years past twenty who spent most of his time training the pages. His blue eyes were wide in shock, and there was a lot of blood on his neck and shirt despite a lack of obvious injuries.

Geoff was controlled but still visibly shaken. “A small group of nomads attacked the west wall. We’ve taken care of them, but…” He trailed off, turning to glance at the man behind him and then the craftsman. “I think we have to talk about this with the others.”

“Alright.” Arthur got the message—this guy was another one of them. Another immortal. “We’ll meet in the strategy room in an hour.” He turned to Johnson, who was still grabbing metal rings off of the floor. “I’ve got to get going,” he said, “but I’ll see you around, yeah?”

Johnson nodded and helped the king off the floor. As he walked away toward the courtyard, the king stopped a patrol guard and told him to spread word to the other knights.

“I’m calling an urgent meeting of the Knights of the Round Table.”


End file.
